


something new, something blue

by rvd



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Marriage, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rvd/pseuds/rvd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[TRK spoilers] Ronan dreams a wedding present for Henry, Gansey, and Blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something new, something blue

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello welcome to ot3 married shenanigans [guitar riff]
> 
> background pynch

“Where is it supposed to be?” Henry asks.

Gansey says, “Ronan said it’d be along here.”

“ _Lynch_ ,” Henry says emphatically, the way hundreds of people have said before him, and hundreds will after. “I didn’t realize hiking was our wedding present.”

Gansey doesn’t know if he’d consider this hiking just yet, but at the height of a Texan summer, the heat bleeding oppressively even through the overhead canopy, small insects clamoring for rest on his sweaty skin, Gansey understands.

“Retribution for eloping,” he suggests.

“Does it count as eloping if Adam and Ronan were _invited_ to the wedding?” Henry muses.

“Ronan’s a bastard,” Blue offers, without heat.

“That’s no way to speak about a baby,” Henry admonishes.

Blue exhales loudly. “They didn’t _actually_ name the baby Ronan II.”

“Blue,” Gansey says, stopping their bickering in its tracks. “Ronan gave you a clue, right?”

“He said where the Pig was finally laid to rest,” Blue says. Gansey nods. He and Henry had gotten the same hint. “And we’d know it when we see it.”

Ronan had also said, _You’re meant to use it together_ , and cackled, clearly remembering he’d said the same thing all those years ago. But fatherhood had softened him, and he added, _You’ll like it, Dick._ Or maybe just “dick.”

To Blue, Henry says, “That’s not very helpful, is it?” The way things are looking, Gansey is inclined to agree.

So far, this part of the ley line doesn’t look so different from Henrietta, after Cabeswater and before Cluainglas. Beautiful in the way all forests are, but not quite otherworldly. Nothing that looks like it doesn’t belong here.

“Hey, Three,” goes Henry, reaching for Gansey’s hand, “why don’t you just order whatever it is to appear?” He laces their fingers together, and rubs a circle into Gansey’s skin.

Gansey doesn’t enjoy orders, but he doesn’t see the harm in asking. The forest may not be Cabeswater or Cluainglas, not so intent on pleasing them, but the ley line listens.  

Without them realizing, the trees had melted away into a meadow, and tucked away on the far side, is a house.

Blue thinks it looks like 300 Fox Way and the Barns both, though neither of the two look anything like each other. Henry is struck by the similarity to his childhood home, the one with secret rooms and hidden passageways, important not for what they were but what they represented: possibility, and the trouble he could get into. Gansey gets a _feeling_ from the house, that it’s important, that it’s a home.

It’s free-standing, with a long, Southern porch that wraps around the front to the side of the house. The foundation is Virginia limestone, reaching up from the ground as incongruous in this meadow as it is in Texas. A soft purple veneer peaks out from under the lush, green ivy that crawls over the entire house. And the windows. They aren’t Monmouth Manufacturing, but they’re extraordinary.

The door, when they approach it, is a neon orange that furiously demands their attention. Upon closer inspection, the knocker is a raven. Gansey reaches to knock with his free hand, at the same time Blue reaches to open the door with hers.

It’s unlocked.

Henry, with no free hands, whistles.

Gansey supposes it’s less strange for a front door to be unlocked that it is to find a house in the woods, but Gansey has already accepted the strangeness of the outside, has placed this house into what he expects from houses.

Dream houses will always challenge those expectations.

They explore the house as a threesome, Ronan’s _You’re meant to use it together_ as a lodestone.

“It’s very Ganseylike,” Henry says. Gansey agrees, but he also thinks it’s very Bluelike, and Henrylike. There’s that twist in his heart—the feeling of being known.

There’s dark wood floors, tall ceilings, a thin staircase leading upstairs. As they make their way through the first floor, they note the haphazard way rooms connect—rooms that are only accessible through other rooms, rooms that seem larger than should be possible. It’s sparse, but Gansey is aware that it’s not in the way that stinks of wealth. It’s sparse so they can fill it with their lives, the debris that accumulates intentionally or not as the byproduct of three people who love each other.

They lose Gansey to the twisting stairway off the second dining room. Henry and Blue can hear his heavy footsteps through the ceiling as they move further into the house.  

Blue discovers the sunroom-slash-nursery with a sharp inhale. Three walls are completely dominated by windows, but the heat, and the way the ceiling curls above them combine to make the room feel cozy, rather than entrapping. A sun-faded yellow couch peeks out from beside three large-leafed plants in pots decorated to move like constellations. There are plants hanging from the ceiling with long, yearning tendrils that brush the top of Henry’s hair as he walks. Blue, much closer to the ground, raises her hand up to brush them with the lightest tips of her fingers. Dream creatures as they are, they gently cling to her, reach for her hand like her touch is magic.

Henry is not a dream creature, but he understands the feeling.

“Ronan’s really got your number, Sargent,” Henry says. Blue will never admit it.

Henry leaves Blue to the nursery, and finds a second set of stairs tucked away in the back of the house.

He opens doors with the intention of finding Gansey, who Henry can hear echoing around but can’t figure out where the noise is coming from. He finds three bedrooms, two linen closets, a door hiding another staircase, a door leading to the first floor of a two-story library, and finally, a bathroom.

He’s in the middle of doing his business before his eye catches on something odd.

Henry calmly zips up his pants and yells, “There’s a fridge in this bathroom!” He hears the thumping before he sees the Blue it’s emanating from. She takes one look at the fridge, and one look at Gansey, who appeared behind her.

“Tell Ronan we don’t want it.”

“We lived like this at Monmouth,” Gansey says, unnecessarily.

Blue, unnecessarily, says, “I _remember_. It was just as disgusting and unhygienic then.”

“But what about the nursery, Blue?” Henry interjects.

“Ah,” Blue concedes, “the nursery.”

There’s a real kitchen, on the second floor. It’s a contradicting mess of sleek appliances that run on dream energy, and mismatched sets of plates and mugs. Gansey loves it. Blue, intensely practical Blue, wonders about the wisdom of a kitchen on the second floor.

As the only one who can actually cook, Henry suggests, “Maybe we should be grateful we got a kitchen at all.”

Gansey says, “I really think you two underestimate what we were able to do with a hot plate in our bathroom-laundry-kitchen.”

Henry sighs. Blue sighs.

They twist off again, and Blue finds herself alone in the bedroom that’s clearly meant to be theirs. The bed is larger than the one Gansey and Henry have in their Cambridge apartment, larger than any of the places Blue has stayed in. It’s set on a wiry bed frame that looks like it’s growing out of the floor. The metal is cool to the touch, sections wrapping around each other to form the poles, and at the top: silver ravens with delicate coronets on their brows. Raven kings.

On the wall near the window there are the paper trees she made for her bedroom at 300 Fox Way, or ones like them at least. She touches the paper trees, the familiar touch like a sense memory to a time before she knew Henry, before she even knew Gansey, when all she knew about her future was she would one day kill her true love.

Blue hears a startled thump from the third floor, and a loud noise from Gansey that might have been a yelp. “If you break anything, I’m not helping you!” she yells. She looks back at the trees, and away.

She goes to look out the window, flicking the light blue curtains as she does. Ha, ha, Ronan.

Then she gasps. “ _Gansey! Henry!_ ” Blue yells.

Gansey skids around the corner, a clothbound book in his hands, looking every bit the tenured professor he is.

“Please don’t tell me Ronan has dreamed _us_ a baby, too.”

Normally, Blue would take any chance to poke at Ronan, especially when he’s not here to bite back, but all she says is, “ _Look_.”

Gansey inhales sharply. He looks, and cannot look away.

“Sargent, Captain. There you are. I found a—” Henry says, shuffling in what could be any amount of time later. He’s holding a small squirming bundle in his arms. “What are you two—oh.”

Oh.

“We’re moving,” he says.

 

The house, they soon discover, operates like so: one, time is consistent, in that the clocks all move the way they should; but, two, the house moves across the ley line quicker than it should; three, it doesn’t just exist on _their_ ley line but on all the ley lines it crosses; and, four, the house always takes them where they want or need to be.

There’s a note from Ronan on the fridge in the bathroom, _Let me know what you name the cat. Adam suggests Hyacinth._

**Author's Note:**

> i just… love… the idea of ronan dreaming henbluesey a home (AND HIM AND ADAM A BABY… a baby… the softest, smallest baby)


End file.
